


Self-Rescuing Princess

by darnedchild



Series: The Self-Rescuing Princess [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Jim Moriarty has priorites, Molly is a BAMF, Sherlolly - Freeform, crack!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 01:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13424046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darnedchild/pseuds/darnedchild
Summary: Jim Moriarty comes back from "the dead" to help Sherlock Holmes rescue Molly Hooper, but does she really need rescuing?





	Self-Rescuing Princess

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MizJoely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/gifts).



> Originally posted on Tumblr in response to @mizjoely mentioning in her list of fandom things she’ll never get tired off - “Molly being a damsel in distress. And Molly being BAMF and rescuing herself and/or Sherlock. Really I just love Molly being put in harm’s way and making it out safely at the end. Hell, I’d read a fic where Jim Moriarty is really alive and only reveals himself because Molly is missing/in danger and he decides to team up with Sherlock to save her. Why has no one written this yet”  
> So here’s my short little Crack!fic.

“Molly, do you have a—What the hell are you doing here?” Sherlock went from cheerfully expectant to ready to murder the man perched atop one of the autopsy tables, idly playing with a bone saw.

“Waiting for you, obviously.” Jim Moriarty set the bone saw to the side and hopped of the table. He straightened his suit jacket. “I expected you earlier. You’re lucky I found something to entertain myself with, or I would have left without you.”

Sherlock took in the empty morgue. The tray of instruments set out in preparation for an autopsy but no body on the table Jim had recently vacated. The discarded lab coat half hidden under another table. An abandoned coffee cup from the little place on the corner that Molly favoured. He narrowed his eyes and glared at Jim. “What did you do to Molly?”

“Nothing since we ‘broke up’ all those years ago. Which, in retrospect, was a little disappointing. I liked her cat.” Jim shrugged.

“Is that-Is that a euphemism?” Sherlock asked, even though he was almost positive he didn’t want to know.

“No.” Jim tilted his head and scrunched his nose. “Well, possibly yes if we’d made it that far. But in this case, I meant Toby. I thought about taking him with me when I left for North Africa, but Molly would have been heartbroken and she was already losing you. Or she would have if you hadn’t been so annoying.”

“Pardon me for being prepared.” Sherlock shook his head, unwilling to be drawn into another pointless argument when he still didn’t know where Molly was. Establish that Molly was okay first, destroy Jim Moriarty second. “If you haven’t done anything to her, then where is she?”

“Your sister took her.”

Sherlock scoffed. “No, she didn’t. She’s safely locked away in Sherrinford.”

“Is she though?” Jim picked a piece of lint of his trouser leg. “Have you been to visit recently? Seen her with your own eyes in the last day or two? Because a little birdie informed me that your dear sister has flown the coop again. And this time she’s in no mood to play games.”

Sherlock thought back to the last time he’d flown out to Sherrinford. It had been . . . weeks? He’d meant to go back sooner, but there had been an eight followed immediately by a nine and both had taken ages to solve.

He pulled out his phone to notify Mycroft, and Jim reached out to pluck it from his hand. “No, no. Can’t have you telling big brother that I’m in town. You only know I’m here because I don’t particularly like the thought of Molly in Eurus’ clutches. Have you had her double chocolate torte? Sublime. It would be a shame to let Molly’s recipe go to the grave with her.”

Sherlock’s efforts to get his phone back were half-arsed at best, he was too busy trying to comprehend that Jim had come back to London simply because he liked Molly’s baking (and cat, apparently).

Jim smiled. “I can almost see the little hamster spinning out of control on his wheel in there.” He pointed at Sherlock’s head. “Now is not the time, Junior. We can compare notes on our favourite pathologist later.”

“Fine.” Sherlock crossed the room to pick up Molly’s lab coat. Perhaps there was something on it that would give them a clue as to where she’d been taken. “Where would you suggest we begin?”

“There’s a warehouse I used to use as front for one of my less legitimate business ventures.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and Jim smirked in response. “My former right hand left my organization rather suddenly a month ago, he went underground and only resurfaced within the last week. I believe he’s been operating out of my old warehouse.”

“Why would Sebastian Moran do anything for my sister?” 

If Jim was surprised that Sherlock knew who Moran was, he didn’t show it. “You know how delightful your sister can be. Poor Seb was always drawn to shiny things; I’m sure it wouldn’t have taken much for her to lure him over.”

“Give me my phone. I won’t contact Mycroft. Yet.” Sherlock held out his hand. Jim grinned as he dropped it into Sherlock’s palm. “I still don’t understand why you waited for me.”

Jim’s grin dropped in an instant. His voice turned deep and menacing. “People don’t leave without my permission. And they especially don’t hurt someone they have very clearly been ordered to stay away from. You get Molly; I get Seb.”

“And Eurus?” Sherlock asked.

“She’s your problem.”

இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—

The warehouse was dark when they approached. Two men in outrageously expensive suits, stealthily creeping through shadows and hiding behind boxes like something out of a Bond film.

They silently approached the warehouse office, a little room in the back corner with slivers of light coming through the drawn blinds. In the end, it didn’t matter how quietly they moved because the raised voices coming from the office only grew louder with each passing second.

“Hey. Hey, lady! You put that chair down, right now,” came a desperate male voice.

Jim whispered, “Sebastian.”

Sherlock nodded in response. If Eurus had already escalated to the point where she was attacking her own henchman with a piece of furniture, that didn’t bode well for Molly’s safety.

They heard Sebastian yelp and the thud of something solid hitting the ground. 

“That’s for shoving me in the trunk.” Sherlock and Jim exchanged a look. The voice was feminine and out of breath, and very clearly did not belong to Eurus. 

“Molly.” Sherlock mouthed. Jim nodded, appearing just as bewildered as Sherlock.

Another yelp from Sebastian. “And that’s for making me spill my coffee. I was really looking forward to that.” 

A third yelp. “Damn it, woman! Stop kicking me. I’ll buy you a damn cup of coffee, just let me up.”

Molly huffed. “Do I look stupid?”

“I am not answering that,” Sebastian quickly replied.

Jim hung his head. “What an idiot.” Sherlock nodded in agreement.

‘Black Magic Woman’ began to play from inside the room. The two men froze next to the office door, waiting to hear what was going to happen next. The song played a few more bars before it went silent.

“Oh my God! Not only are you a shitty kidnapper, you have crap taste in ring tones. That wasn’t even Santana!”

“Screw you, lady. That was Fleetwood Mac. That is a classic. God damn it, stop throwing things at me!”

Sherlock decided enough was enough, they rushed into the room to find Sebastian Moran on his arse, backed into a corner. Molly stood over him, chest heaving with deep, angry breaths. She had a pencil cup in her hand, arm drawn back in preparation to fling it at Sebastian. Jim bent down and picked up the gun that must have been dropped during the scuffle.

“Molly?” Sherlock called her name as he tried to approach her with both hands up in the universal sign for ‘I come in peace, please don’t thrown anything at my head’.

“Sherlock? Jim? Jim!” Molly gasped. “But, you’re dead!”

“Consider me a ghost, luv.” He pointed the gun in Sebastian’s direction. “I’ll just get what I came for, and be out of your way. Always nice to see you again, Molly. Perhaps I’ll stop by for another one of your tortes someday. I was telling Sherlock they are to die for. Maybe you should bake one for Eurus, butter up the future sister-in-law a bit.”

“Uh. I, uh, what?” Molly looked to Sherlock for an explanation. 

Sebastian’s mobile started to vibrate on the desk, then ‘Black Magic Woman’ began to play once more.

“Speak of the psychopath.” Jim nodded toward the phone. “That is my cue to leave.” He wiggled the gun in Sebastian’s direction. Sebastian got up, and glared at Molly as he pushed past her. She tossed the pencil cup at his head, and it bounced of with a metallic ping.

Sebastian stomped toward the door, hand held up to the tender spot on his forehead. “She’s as nuts as the other one. Bunch of crazies. You’re all a bunch of crazy people!” Molly reached for the stapler on the desk and he squeaked as he darted out of the room.

Jim hung back just long enough to say, “Give Eurus my love. Ta.” 

Sherlock picked up the phone and answered it. “Hello, sis. I’m afraid you caught us at a bad time. We were just on our way out.”

He heard Eurus laugh. “I saw. Wave for the camera, Sherlock. Tell your Molly I think I’m beginning to like her. She’s fun to play with.”

And then the call disconnected.


End file.
